From Ash
by haylefyre
Summary: Asher Hawke is desperately trying to hold on to the remains of his and Anders' relationship. When Surana appears in Kirkwall, Asher hopes the Hero of Ferelden will be able to help. But when Surana, who hates the Circle even more than Anders, discovers Anders' plans for the Chantry, things don't go the way Hawke had hoped.


Asher Hawke tightened his grip on his staff and tried to ignore the sickening feeling in his gut. The familiar magic hovering around him, mingling with his own, did not provide any comfort today. He felt the magic shift as Anders quickened his strides to walk beside him, and it took concerted effort not to react.

He was angry. In fact, he couldn't remember ever being so furious in his life. Hawke wanted to hit something, break something, kill something. Anders was set on a path of self-destruction, and every effort to intervene had been thwarted by Justice. Asher had been convinced he'd broken through last night, brought Anders back to himself, only to have the spirit - no, the _demon_ - rip him away again.

Their conversation from the previous night was still coursing across his mind, the last words Anders had spoken ringing through his ears. Don't hate me for failing, he'd said. _Don't hate me for failing,_ as if that was the end of it, as if there was nothing else to do, as if Asher were foolish for believing this could end any other way.

Maker, he needed to stop thinking about this. Of course there was another way, some way to fix this. Fix Anders. Hawke just needed to calm down, to think, to figure out what in Andraste's name he was going to do, and he'd never be able to do that if he kept dwelling on last night.

As if on cue, a desperate looking young woman planted herself in front of Asher. "Messere Hawke, I must speak with you. You're the only one that can help."

"What's your problem?" he asked, for once thankful that distractions were easy to come by in Kirkwall.

"The Wardens mounted an expedition to trace your route through the Deep Roads, to discover whatever it is you found years ago. It's a fool's errand, and my poor brother is with them - Nathaniel Howe."

And that was how Hawke found himself back in the blighted Deep Roads. Again.

Hawke was already considering burning his robes as soon as they returned to the surface. At least now he could afford new ones. It had taken weeks to get the stench of darkspawn blood out of his only robes the last time, and he could already smell the rot settling into his clothes.

He crinkled his nose. Maybe a distraction wasn't the best idea to clear his mind after all. He opened his mouth to quip about the filth, but Aveline cut him off.

"Wait," she commanded from behind him. The party stopped in their tracks, silent, waiting. "Do you hear that?"

Hawke strained his ears. At first, there was nothing, but then, faintly, he heard -

"A battle," Isabela answered. "This way."

The rogue led the way through the thin tunnels of the Deep Roads, disarming traps and scouting ahead. The others followed silently behind, weapons at the ready. The clanking sounds of metal on metal and inhuman screeching grew louder every moment, until suddenly the walls opened into an enormous chamber.

Hawke only had a moment to survey the scene before the darkspawn were upon them. A small, armored warrior - possibly elvhen, definitely not Nathaniel - stood in the center of a rather large pile of corpses, wielding sword against oncoming foes and - wait, was he casting spells?

The moment passed, and the party was surrounded by darkspawn. Isabela disappeared in a puff of smoke, only to reappear with both daggers embedded into the back of a hurlock. The grunt collapsed to the ground, and the rogue rolled off the corpse to narrowly avoid a slew of bolts. Aveline charged forward, slamming her shield into a genlock's face and her sword through another's belly. Hawke and Anders stood back to back, Asher tossing foes with force spells and Anders raining fire and lightning.

The four companions formed a well-oiled fighting machine. Isabela skirted on the outside of the battle, taking out archers and distracting more powerful enemies. Aveline stayed close to the mages, dealing massive damage to the horde and protecting the men behind her. Hawke focused on aggressive magic, while Anders surveyed the party, healing when needed. When the seemingly endless stream of darkspawn had finally been slaughtered, Hawke had completely forgotten about the mysterious warrior, but he was not the only one who'd noticed the man.

While Hawke paused to drink a poultice and loot corpses, Anders headed straight for the stranger on the other side of the chamber. The warrior sheathed his blade and carefully removed his helmet, revealing a handsome face and shaggy, dark auburn hair. The pointed tips of his ears marked him as elvhen, though he did not wear the vallaslin of the Dalish. His eyes were dark and cold, and fixed upon Anders with singular focus.

"Anders," the man greeted when Anders was near enough, bowing his head ever so slightly.

"Commander," the mage answered, and nodded in greeting. "I didn't know you were in Kirkwall."

"I could say the same to you," the elf replied, then paused to appraise him. When his eyes met Anders' again, the healer had to fight the urge to shrink away. "It seems you've changed since last we met."

"Yes, well, that's rather a long story," Anders began sheepishly.

"You can tell me over drinks as soon as we're done here." It was not a request so much as an order. Anders knew better than to argue.

"Anders, you know this man?" Hawke inquired as he strode up behind his mage. The elf fixed his dark eyes on Hawke.

"And who might you be?" the stranger asked, looking Hawke over and arching his brow skeptically.

"Asher Hawke. And just who exactly are you?" he replied hotly, squaring his shoulders and narrowing his eyes. This small wisp of a man wasn't going to intimidate him.

"Um, Hawke," Anders interrupted softly, "this is - "

"Surana! Is that you?" Isabela called from beside Hawke. Asher hadn't heard her approach, but he was used to that by now.

"Isabela," the stranger greeted. "A pleasure to see you again."

"There can be more of that later if you wish," Isabela replied with a devilish grin. The elf returned her smirk, and Hawke wondered what their history was before deciding it was better not to know.

"I hate to interrupt this lovely reunion, but don't we have a job to do?" Aveline asked, having strode up while the elf - Surana - and Isabela were flirting, or whatever it was they were doing.

"Yes, poor Nathaniel must be waiting," Anders remarked, seeming eager to move on from this conversation. Hawke eyed the elf warily again, but if both Anders and Isabela know the man and apparently had no problems with him, Hawke supposed he could wait to interrogate the elf. With his go ahead, the party gathered themselves and journeyed on.

Anders and the elvhen warrior were soon able to sense Nathaniel's presence - the elf must be a Warden, Hawke noted - meaning the archer was still very much alive and very close. With the Wardens leading them, their group found Nathaniel quickly. With three Wardens and three experienced fighters, the darkspawn that had thought Nathaniel an easy target were soon overcome.

During the brief battle, Hawke had more opportunities to observe the mysterious Warden, and what he saw was astounding. The warrior was not only a more than proficient swordsman, but appeared to be a skilled mage as well. The elf was casting spell after spell, hardly slowing his swordplay even when casting complex sustained spells. His mana pool must be endless, Hawke thought in awe. Who was this man?

His question was answered moments after the final hurlock fell.

"Warden Commander," Nathaniel said to the elf, bowing his head in respect, "I did not expect you here. I believed you to still be in -"

"Yes, and I would prefer if others continued believing that as well," the Commander replied with a sharp eye. Nathaniel nodded, and turned to Hawke's group.

"Anders, Hawke, I am certainly glad to see you again. I owe you and your friends a debt," the archer was saying, but Hawke was hardly listening. Nathaniel had called the elf 'Warden Commander'. Did that mean _the_ Warden Commander, from Anders' stories of Amaranthine? The Hero of Ferelden himself?

Anders made some noise of pleasant greeting, and Nathaniel said something about other Wardens, and a moment later the group was headed deeper into the Deep Roads. All the while, Hawke's attention remained fixed on the elf. Surana may have slain an arch demon and somehow survived, but that didn't mean Hawke trusted him. Something about the man unsettled him. Hawke wanted to ask Anders about him, but now was not the time or place, and Asher had to settle for staring holes into the elf's back.

When the party entered a chamber littered with darkspawn and Warden corpses, Surana's face contorted into a snarl that sent a shiver down Hawke's spine, and there was no longer any doubt that this was in fact _the_ Warden Commander from Anders' tales - the one that had filled the healer with dread and awe at a glance.

Suddenly, a horrific roar sounded from across the room, and the floor was teeming with darkspawn. Another awful scream echoed through the chamber, and Hawke realized this one came from Surana, who was slicing through darkspawn in a feral rage.

A hurlock appeared before him, knocking Hawke back with a hard blow to the chest in his moment of distraction. Hawke stumbled and fell to the ground, bringing his staff above him just in time to stop a blade from sinking into his skull. The hurlock snarled and pressed its weight into the blade, pushing Hawke's staff further down. Hawke channeled all of his strength into holding his staff above him, unable to cast for fear that the brief moment would be all the hurlock needed to deal a death blow.

Then a sword burst through the darkspawn's throat, coating Hawke in tainted blood. He shouted in surprise and disgust as the dead weight of the hurlock collapsed onto him. He was _definitely_ burning these robes.

Hawke grunted and shoved the corpse off of him to find Surana standing above him, similarly coated in blackened gore. The elf held out a hand, and after a moment of hesitation, Hawke took it. Surana pulled him to his feet.

"Thanks," Hawke muttered, and the elf merely nodded.

"They're all dead," Surana said, turning to the rest of the group. "Let's not waste any more time here."

Ages later, after burning all of his robes and scrubbing his skin until it was raw and nearly bleeding, Hawke found himself in the Hanged Man with his band of companions (minus Isabela and Fenris, who had _other_ plans for the night) and, unfortunately, the Warden Commander.

The moment they'd been seated, Surana began questioning Anders about his merging with Justice. Hawke quickly grew irritated with the turn of the conversation, especially when Surana seemed impressed with Anders' commitments to the mage underground, and the way Anders fawned like a child eager for approval whenever Surana gave an encouraging comment.

"And after things went to the Void with you gone, Justice's offer seemed quite appealing," Anders was saying morbidly, as Varric and Merrill listened with rapt attention.

"There was a recruit, after you left." Anders found his throat was suddenly dry. "A templar. They wouldn't admit it, but I knew he was there to guard me. He never left me alone. It was like being back at the Circle, only with the illusion of freedom."

"I'm sorry," Surana said, and for once his voice wasn't sharp and harsh. He sounded strained, sincere.

Anders blinked, staring stupidly at the elf, before he mumbled, "It's - I mean - it wasn't your fault."

Surana looked away, and the hard edge in his voice returned. "You said so yourself, things went to shit after I left." He shook his head in disgust. "Was the templar the reason you left the Wardens?"

Anders paused. "Well, in part. I told you about... about Justice and I. When it happened, Rolan - the templar - he was there. I awoke afterwards to him standing over me, talking to another templar about how they had to _put me down._" Anders was shaking with rage now, faint traces of blue ghosting in his eyes, and Asher placed a hand on his to calm him. Anders let out a deep breath, and the blue faded for the moment.

Surana leaned forward, and gently asked, "What happened next?"

Anders' eyes snapped up to the elf's. "I killed them," he said bluntly. "I killed them all. So many, I don't even remember."

"Good," came Surana's reply, and Hawke's blood ran cold. "Those bastards deserved it. Recruiting a templar to guard you? I would have ensured that sniveling shit never made it past the Joining."

An uneasy smile broke across Anders' face. "I know."

A loud bang of the door bursting open signaled the arrival of Fenris and Isabela, thankfully cutting the conversation short.

"Who's up for another game of give-Isabela-all-your-money?" the pirate cooed as she slid into her seat.

"It won't be that easy, Rivaini," Hawke replied, happy for a change of topics.

"Isn't it always?" she said with a wicked grin.

Hawke had lost early in the game, and sat stewing over Isabela's taunts with his mug of ale. He'd lost track of how many drinks he'd had, but he had a pleasant fuzzy sensation swirling in his skull, and he certainly wasn't going to stop soon.

He wanted to talk to Anders, but his lover was still playing - and currently losing horribly - Hawke saw with dismay. Thoughts of their recent argument shifted back to the surface of his mind, now that he was drunk enough to stop being bothered by Surana's presence. Hawke frowned, and glanced over at the elf. He was sitting alone, watching the card game from a distance and nursing a mug of Hanged Man swill. An idea formed in Hawke's mind, and he was drunk enough to act on it.

"Surana," Asher said as he plopped himself down beside the Warden.

He arched a brow and glanced over his mug at the other mage.

Hawke had to fight the urge to pummel the Warden every time the elf gave him that disinterested glare. "I would ask a favor of you."

The elf stared and took another drink. Maker, this man was impossible to talk to. Maybe he hadn't quite gotten drunk enough to tolerate Surana.

"It concerns Anders."

Surana placed his mug on the table and turned to face Hawke. "What about Anders?"

Hawke took a deep breath, hardly believing he was actually voicing his fears aloud. "I think he's going to do something terrible."

The disinterested look returned. "That wouldn't be anything new."

"I don't mean 'Warden business' terrible, I mean - well, actually, I'm not sure what I mean. All I know is that Anders is planning something, and whatever it is, it's bad." Hawke licked his lips, tried to focus his thoughts. "He lied to me."

Surana fought down a chortle. Asher considered the pros and cons of lighting his hair on fire.

"Look, I don't like you. I don't care that you ended the Blight and saved all of Thedas, I think you're a sodding prick. But I know you care about Anders, and I'm asking you to help him. Just talk to him."

"About _what_?" the elf asked, annoyance clear in his tone.

"I don't know," Hawke replied through gritted teeth. "But last week he jerked me around with a story about a Tevinter potion, and had me help him collect sela petrae and drakestone. I know he's not telling me everything, but maybe he'll talk to you."

The elf's eyes flitted up briefly at the mention of the ingredients, but a moment later, his face was as stoic and unreadable as ever. Hawke's brows furrowed, and he opened his mouth to ask the Warden what he knew about sela petrae and drakestone potions, but the elf cut him off. "I'll see what I can do," he said, in a voice that left no invitation for further conversation.

Hawke frowned, just as a series of groans emanated from the nearby table and Isabela raked in her winnings.

Surana bid his time, waiting until the rest of the group was sufficiently intoxicated before making his move to speak with his healer. He stood behind Anders and spoke his name, loud enough for him to hear over the ruckus his friends were making, but not loud enough to draw the attention of others.

Anders flinched, caught by surprise. "Yes, Commander?"

"I would speak with you." Surana strode away down the hallway, motioning for Anders to follow.

When they were a sufficient distance from the crowds, Surana turned to Anders and said, "Your lover told me something very interesting."

Anders arched a brow. "What would that be?" he asked hesitantly.

"That you were concocting an old Tevinter potion. A potion requiring sela petrae and drakestone." His eyes were hard, his jaw set in stone. Anders gulped. Surana knew.

"Well, see, about that -"

"Where were you going to do it?" Surana interrupted.

Anders looked away at the ground, unable to speak at first. Finally, he all but whispered, "The Chantry."

He waited in silence for the reprisals, for the punishments, but they never came. Anders dared to look up at his Commander, and what he saw shocked him. The elf's dark eyes were sparkling with something like excitement, and a wicked grin cracked across his face.

"_Brilliant._"

Anders knew Asher was jealous.

Well, maybe jealous was not quite the right word. He was certainly irritated, and that irritation definitely stemmed from the amount of Anders' time spent with the Warden Commander. Which, admittedly, was almost excessive.

Surana had spent the last few weeks helping Anders collect the final ingredients, craft the potion, and plan the final details. He'd also accompanied Anders on quests with Hawke, joined them at gatherings at the Hanged Man, and had even been helping in the clinic. (Surana knew a dismal amount of spirit healing, but had a wealth of knowledge of crafting potions.) Suffice to say, Anders was spending almost as much time with Surana as he was with Justice.

And it was fairly obvious to all of their friends that Asher was not happy with said arrangement.

It was getting harder and harder for Anders to dismiss Hawke's concerns and avoid answering his questions, and Hawke was quickly reaching the limit of his tolerance for the situation. Instead of gently urging Anders to confide in him, Asher had begun snapping at him with comments meant to cut.

Anders tried not to show how they wounded, but truth be told, he was almost more relieved than nervous when Surana finally told him, "We act today."

The Commander's decisive tone left no room for argument. They would plant their potion in the Chantry today, and the revolution would begin tomorrow. He could stop lying to Asher tomorrow. Hawke would know everything, tomorrow.

Whether Asher would curse him or kill him or worse, at least he would know the truth before he did so.

Planting the potion went smoothly, exactly according to plan. The pair waited until nightfall, when the Chantry was still and silent. They crept in through the front door - unlocked - and placed it in a secluded corner, out of sight of most of the Chantry's visitors. A simple spell tied the activation of the potion to Anders, and the deed was done. The mages were in and out within minutes.

The trek back to Darktown was just as uneventful. Not even the Hanged Man was still serving patrons. It seemed that in all the city, Anders and Surana were the only two alive.

When they finally arrived at his clinic, Anders noticed his hands were trembling. He clenched them into fists, and tried to silence the nerves settling in. Surana noticed, and passed him a flask of warm liquor. They sat in silence in the dim room, passing the flask back and forth.

"I'm proud of you, Anders," Surana said bluntly.

Anders didn't know how to respond.

"I recruited you because I knew you had potential," the elf continued after a moment. "But you're doing far more than I ever... More than I've ever done. I'm impressed." A pause. "Grateful, even."

Anders took another drink, pointedly ignoring Justice's protests. "Thank you," he said finally, softly.

"Learn to accept praise when it comes your way, Anders." Surana took the flask back in hand when Anders passed it. "You are deserving of it."

Anders said nothing. Surana took another drink and leaned back, staring out of the high windows at the stars outside.

"Are you sure about your lover, Anders?" Surana asked.

Anders glanced at him, brows furrowed in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Surana frowned. "You haven't told him about your plans. Do you believe he'd turn against you?"

Anders sighed, and turned away. "No, worse. I fear he'd want to help."

"Why is that bad?"

"I don't want him involved. I don't want him to be forced to live the life of a fugitive. He's been lucky enough to avoid the templars most of his life. I want it to stay that way."

Surana furrowed his brows. "No matter what happens, he is already involved."

"Well he doesn't need to be more involved," Anders snapped.

For a long moment, Surana said nothing. Finally, he asked, "Does he make you happy?"

"He does," Anders answered softly.

"Then I am glad for it. You deserve happiness in your life."

Anders scoffed. "Are you going soft, Val?"

"Ha," Surana replied dryly, but his features were not as harsh as usual. When he spoke next, his voice was almost soothing. "It's late. Go home to him, Anders. Enjoy your night with him."

"Because it could be my last?" Anders asked dryly.

"Because the world is changing tomorrow, and this is the last night of peace we will have in a long time."

Asher was vaguely aware of the dying fire in his bedroom, and that he should tend it. A chill was nearing the edge of biting, and, as the room was empty, there was no other source of warmth but the dwindling fire. But that was exactly the problem preoccupying Hawke's mind: his room was empty.

It was nearing sunrise, and Hawke's room was empty.

Anders wasn't here.

Certainly, there had been nights when Anders had stayed in the clinic, or come to bed long after Hawke had fallen asleep. But he always took care to send Asher a note, to let him know he was alright, just busy.

But tonight, there had been nothing. And Hawke was certain he knew the reason.

Asher was not a jealous man, but in his opinion, Anders had been spending far too much time with Surana. The two could not be separated, and it had gotten to where Asher could not take Anders on the simplest of errands without that blighted elf trailing along.

True, Asher had asked Surana for his help with Anders. But the Warden Commander pointedly refused to talk to Asher about anything to do with Anders following that conversation. And, more importantly, Anders had grown even more distant and more melancholy. It seemed Surana had done exactly the opposite of what Asher had asked of him.

Also true, the elf's skills were particularly useful when they ran into trouble (which Hawke seemed to have a rare talent for). But, in addition to the bitterness he felt from Surana's failure to help his lover, Asher was not especially fond of the elf or his abrasive personality. If he was honest, he would admit that the elf completely infuriated him just by being in the same room. With his smug face and his practiced disinterest and his pointed way of completely ignoring a person and his not-so-subtle insults and his -

A quiet creaking interrupted Asher's distressed pacing. He glanced toward the door, and there was Anders, looking even more exhausted than usual. He looked up at Hawke with guilty, sad eyes, and took a tentative step into Asher's room, closing the door behind him.

"Where were you?" Hawke asked, fighting to keep his voice calm. "I was - I was worried about you. You didn't send a note or a message. I thought maybe something - something had happened and - "

"I'm sorry, love," Anders sighed. "But you needn't have worried. I was with the Warden Commander."

Asher's jaw tightened, and he fought down the urge to say something bitter. He didn't want to fight with Anders. "What were you doing with him?"

If Asher hadn't known Anders so well, he might have skipped the beat of hesitation before Anders answered. "Discussing Warden business," was the vague response, and Asher scoffed.

"Please. Do you think I'm daft?"

Anders pursed his lips. "Surana has been assisting. With the mage underground."

"I thought the Knight Commander had shut that down."

Anders scowled. "Yes, well, thanks to Surana, we've gotten started again."

A silence fell in the room. Asher knew he was lying, knew there was something important Anders wasn't telling him, but didn't know how to push the issue - or if he even wanted to.

What he wanted was his lover back. He wanted this chasm between them to close. He wanted to hold Anders close to him and actually _feel_ close to him.

A million things ran through his mind, but what Asher said was, "Come to bed."

Anders hesitated for a moment, then shed his clothes and climbed under the sheets. Asher slipped in next to him, pulled him close and felt the healer's skin pressed to his, and he pretended that everything was alright again.

The morning brought Asher no comfort.

Anders was tense and nervous, and refused to eat or answer Asher's questions. When Asher was called to settle a conflict in the Gallows, Anders seemed both excited and afraid.

Asher almost asked what Anders knew, what he was hiding. But a cold fear had wrapped itself around his heart, and Asher couldn't bring himself to form the words.

Instead they travelled in silence.

When they'd nearly reached the Gallows, Anders wrapped his fingers around Asher's. Hawke squeezed back, gripping tight to his lover's hand like a lifeline.

"Hawke," Anders said, voice soft and shaking. "You know how much I care for you. I love you, like I've never loved anyone before. I want you to know - "

"Stop," Asher commanded, and pressed his lips against Anders'. The healer tensed for a moment, then wrapped his arms tightly around Asher, crushing the two of them together in a tight embrace.

"There's still time, Anders," Asher gasped when he finally broke the kiss. "Whatever you're trying to apologize for, there's still time to stop it. It doesn't have to be this way."

Anders stayed silent, pulling away again, his pained expression betraying the turmoil in his heart.

_No, no, no,_ Asher thought desperately, and reached out again. Maybe if he could just touch him, grasp his hand again, pull him back again.

But Anders was too far, and then they were docked at the Gallows and there was no more time to speak.

When they arrived at the scene of the confrontation, Asher was glad to find the familiar faces of his many companions, and less glad to see Surana standing among them.

The elf noticed their approach, and sent a grin to Anders when they caught each others' gaze. Asher glanced at Anders, who nodded at the Warden Commander, face no longer tumultuous, but set in stony resolution.

Asher clenched his fists at his side, ready to forget the confrontation that had brought him here and start one of his own, but the blighted Knight Commander and First Enchanter could not leave him be. Asher navigated the conversation with as much diplomacy as he could manage, but his focus remained singularly on the interactions between Anders and Surana, who'd moved to stand beside the healer.

The two were communicating silently with one another, paying as little attention to the confrontation as Asher himself. Until Anders stepped forward and interrupted, and Asher felt his heart burst apart and plummet in his chest when he said, "_There can be no peace."_

And then the sky erupted and the ground shook, and the people around him screamed, but all Asher could see was the determined gaze of the man he called his lover, features lit up with the light of the fires he'd started. And Asher's life - the one he was so desperately trying to hold together - crashed down around him.

Asher felt like he was in the Fade, floating and distant, and everything happening in a fog. He scrambled to make sense of this, of what had happened, to find some way he could have stopped it. What were the signs he had missed? Should he have done something differently? What else was there to do? He stared at the ground, hands grasping at his hair, as if the stone tiles could answer his questions if he just looked at them hard enough.

And still through all of this, the people around him would not leave him alone. Couldn't they see that he was falling apart, that he couldn't shoulder all of Kirkwall right now, that he was desperately trying not to break down in front of them? They pestered him and questioned him and demanded he respond until suddenly he was screaming at all of them, at Meredith, telling her that _no, he would NOT slaughter innocent mages_and then abruptly there was quiet, and all had gone except his friends.

When Asher finally looked up, he found Anders had walked forward, sliding a nearby crate towards where Hawke and the others had gathered. His eyes only left Hawke's when he sat with his back to him, awaiting his judgment. His shoulders slumped forward as he leaned his elbows on his knees, and more than anything else, he looked tired.

Hawke couldn't remember the steps he'd taken to get there, but suddenly he was standing at Anders' back, staring down at him.

"What did you do, Anders?" Asher asked, voice barely a whisper and face contorted in horror. "What in Andraste's name did you _do_?"

"What had to be done," Surana answered from beside him. Hawke flinched.

"_You_," Hawke hissed, aiming his staff at the elf. "I asked you to stop him. I asked you to help!"

"I helped."

"By killing people?" The words burned in Asher's throat.

"By doing what you would not," Surana bit back. Asher glanced at Anders, who was pointedly looking away from him.

"The consequences," Asher stuttered, struggling to find his words in the turmoil of his mind. "You've condemned yourselves - you've condemned_him_ to death!"

"And who would carry out that sentence?" Surana sneered. "You? Would you kill your lover for taking a stand against injustice?"

Hawke pursed his lips, too infuriated to respond, and knowing what Surana knew: he could not kill Anders.

"I am ready to pay for my crimes," Anders said softly, speaking for the first time. He wanted to die, Hawke realized.

"No," Asher spat, voice raised and furious. "You are not. You are ready to let your lover execute you, so you don't have to face the consequences of what you've done. You are ready to force that burden onto me." His body shook with dry sobs as he fought to catch his breath.

"Do you know how that would break me?" Asher whispered. "Do you even _care_?"

Asher watched Anders clench his fists in the cloth of his trousers, watched him hunch even further over, watched his body tremble with what Hawke preyed was shame and regret - because that might mean that Anders still had a soul.

"Hawke," Anders said finally, voice cracking and broken. He drew in a ragged breath and paused, about to speak, when -

"Maker, we don't have time for this," Surana said hotly. "The Knight-Commander is moving to annul the Circle as we speak. The longer we stand around and dawdle, the more innocent people die."

Hawke fixed him with a glare. "This is all your fault!" he exclaimed, shifting into fighting stance, but a hand on his arm stopped him.

"No, Asher," Anders told him. "It is mine. The Commander merely helped me put the final pieces in place. This had to be done. Not just for Kirkwall, but for the good of all mages. I accept full responsibility for my actions, and I will endure whatever punishment you see fit."

Asher felt his face flush with new rage. "I'm not going to make a martyr of you, if that's what you're expecting."

Anders stared at him in shock, and Asher didn't know whether he was more furious or hurt that his lover had apparently expected him to end his life.

"You're going to help clean up the mess you made. I'm not taking on the Knight Commander on my own. And you can do more good for the mages alive than dead."

"Good, that's all settled. Let's get a move on then," Surana snapped impatiently.

"Can you just shut up for one minute," Asher began, but then Sebastian was striding forward in a rage.

"Hawke, what are you doing?" Sebastian demanded. "If I had been in the Chantry today, would you still be wavering in your decision? This man is a murderer!"

"And the Chantry was full of accomplices to countless crimes!" Surana retorted.

"That is not true! Elthina has never harmed a soul -"

"Ha. That is the lie, prince," Surana spat. "For how long did she stand by and refuse to take sides when confronted with evidence of Templar corruption and abuses? Do not pretend like she was some innocent. She was just as complicit in the crimes of the Templars as the knights themselves."

Sebastian's face contorted in rage. "You," he hissed, lurching forward.

"Sebastian," Asher exclaimed, stepping between the elf and the prince. "We have more pressing matters at hand than punishment. Right now, unless we do something, more innocent people are going to die. Are you going to stand back and let that happen? Or are you going to help us?"

For a moment, Hawke thought that Sebastian was going to hit him. The prince's jaw was clenched in fury, and his fist was tight and shaking at his side. Finally, he pointed a finger at Anders and spat, "I will not fight alongside _that_... that _abomination_. And I cannot fight alongside you if you take his side, Hawke. So help me, I will return here, with the armies of Starkhaven at my back, and I will make him pay for what he's done."

"Ha," Surana barked from Anders' side. "That, I would love to see."

Sebastian turned his cold gaze on the Warden. "I shall be coming for you as well."

"Why not now?" Surana replied, threat apparent in his tone. Sebastian looked for a moment like he wanted to take the offer, but thought better of it, and stormed off.

"Let's go," Hawke commanded after a long moment, and the rest of his party followed him into the fight.

Ashes swirled through the air and coated the city in a layer of grey. In the distance, the wreckage of the Chantry still glowed, coloring the sky in shades of red to match the blood running in the streets.

Asher did not speak as they fought their way through crowds of Templars and abominations alike. He moved through the battles as he had a thousand before, automatically, instinctually. He didn't think. It was a welcome change.

Their group fought their way toward the source of the turmoil, cutting through foes with practiced ease. But when they found themselves standing on the edge of the final confrontation, everyone knew, and everyone wanted pause. They stopped to gather supplies, patch up wounds, sharpen blades, calm nerves. Asher couldn't bring himself to focus on any preparations. He couldn't find it in him to care what happened next.

He wandered through the ranks of his friends and companions, and eventually, he found himself standing before Anders, silent, staring, unsure what he was doing or what to say to the man in front of him. Anders seemed just as much at a loss, shifting his weight from one foot to the other, eyes not meeting Asher's.

After an eternity, "I'm sorry." So soft, Asher almost didn't hear it, and almost wished he hadn't.

Asher said nothing. Anders finally looked up from the ground.

"You don't deserve all I've done to you, all I've put you through," Anders continued. He laughed without humor. "I told you I would only break your heart."

"Don't do this," Asher snapped. "Not now, not after all we've just done."

Anders bowed his head, and Asher was shocked to realize that he was crying. Without thinking, he stepped forward, closing the gap between them, and wrapped his arms around Anders. The healer's body trembled in his grasp, and suddenly seemed so small, so human. Asher gripped him tighter, burying his face in blonde hair, trying not to cry himself. He hated himself suddenly, for not seeing earlier how broken Anders was, how hard he was trying to hold himself together, for letting Asher's own doubts and fears widen the rift between them.

"I wanted to create a world where," Anders paused, drew in a shaky breath. "Where people like us-"

"I know," Asher soothed. He didn't know if he condoned Anders' methods - it was still too soon, too fresh.

Anders swayed, falling against Asher and gripping tightly to his robes. "Run away with me," he said suddenly.

Asher furrowed his brow and pulled away. "I - I don't know. Anders, I -"

And then the moment was gone. Asher could see it in his eyes, he was slipping away again. Anders took a step back, fumbled with his words, saying something that Asher didn't try to listen to. Asher reached out a hand to pull him back -

But Surana was there first, appearing suddenly, clapping Anders on the back excitedly and chattering on about how they were almost there, this was almost it, the revolution they'd been dreaming of for years. Anders looked less distraught with each word Surana spoke.

Asher thought that perhaps, if he were not so exhausted, he might have been angry.

"Hawke," Varric's voice sounded behind him, and Asher turned away from the Wardens.

"Varric," Asher replied.

Varric sighed, the way he did when he was going to be brutally honest and say something that was definitely going to piss Asher off. "You're waffling, Waffles."

Asher crinkled his nose. "What?"

Varric gave him a look that said, _Do you really need me to spell this out for you, genius?_ Which was so very helpful and not infuriating in the least.

"Can you do me a favor, Varric, and _not_ do the cryptic writer thing right now? I'm not really in the mood for -"  
"Hawke, what matters most to you?"

Asher furrowed his brows and opened his mouth to rattle off a snappy, dismissive reply, but Varric interrupted again.

"Don't give me some bullshit answer, Hawke. I want you to think about that question, really wrack your brain. Right now, at this moment, what in your life do you care about more than anything else?"

That gave Asher pause. If he'd been asked that question a few years ago, he'd have said his family. But he'd lost his father as a child, his sister in the Blight, his brother in the Deep Roads, and his mother at the hands of a deranged mage. Since Asher had become the head of the family after his father's death, everything he'd done had been for them. He'd worked his way through dirty jobs and menial labor to find himself at an estate in Hightown, all to provide for his family. But they were gone. Everyone was gone. Asher had no one left.

He began to tell Varric as much, but the dwarf only sighed dramatically and walked away. And apparently Asher was not too exhausted to be angry.

"Let's go!" he called to his companions, suddenly itching for a battle. "Let's finish this."

Despite the madness - really, animating the statues? - Asher was grateful for the battle. The fighting stopped his mind again, giving him a much desired respite from the thoughts Varric had stirred.

He twisted, dodging a swing from one of the creatures, and cast another force spell. His numerous companions were each locked in combat with their own metal monsters, but Asher was scanning the fight for a specific person…

He cried out as a sharp pain bit into his shoulder, and looked down to find a blade bursting through the front of his armor. Asher screamed, sending all of his mana into a telekinetic burst, hurtling the statue away from him and ripping free the blade in the same moment. He collapsed to his knees, clutching at the wound in his shoulder, trying to staunch the flow of blood. But his robes were already drenched.

He felt dizzy, and wasn't sure if it was from the blood loss or the battle rush. He tried to keep his eyes open, but all he wanted to do was lie down, just for a moment…

Asher was aware of someone calling his name from a distance, someone pleading desperately, and realized that at some point he had lain down. A warm hand pressed against his wound, and the warmth spread rapidly through his body. The sudden surge of energy made him cough and gasp for breath, and then just as suddenly as it came, it had passed. Asher opened his eyes, and for a moment, all he saw was gold.

He blinked, and as his vision cleared, he recognized the face hovering over him, golden hair framing features creased with concern, and golden-brown eyes brimming with tears.

"Maker," Anders gasped, breathless, relieved. "For a moment there I thought…"

"Anders," Asher sighed, reaching up to caress his cheek. But Anders grasped his hand and pulled him upright.

"Come on, we have to move."

And just like that, the fighting again engulfed them. But this time, Asher wasn't alone.

The battle was long and exhausting, but every time Asher felt his energy running dry or his body becoming worn, that familiar rush of energy was there behind him, urging him on, giving him the strength to deal the final blow.

When the Knight Commander finally fell, and the dust and ash settled on the battlefield, the band of misfits was no where to be found. The Knight Captain had given them a headstart, but the Templars would be coming after them, and they had only moments to plan their escape.

Isabela had "secured" a ship, and was offering passage to all who would sail with her to wherever they fancied. Most of his companions clambered aboard, eager to be far from the city, and Asher himself was halfway up the boardwalk before he realized that Anders wasn't following.

He turned, and saw Anders standing on the docks, glancing from Asher to Surana, standing further away and looking impatient. Asher climbed back down the boardwalk, eyes questioning Anders when his tongue couldn't find the words. An eternity passed, and Asher could hear Isabela calling out to him, telling him that if he didn't get on that ship _this instant_, she was going to sail without them. But he couldn't -

"Anders," Surana called. Anders looked over, and Asher followed his gaze. The Warden Commander jerked his head and took a step away, a gesture that was obviously a command. Anders hesitated, then stepped towards the elf automatically.

No, this wasn't happening, Asher thought desperately. Not after everything they'd been through. This couldn't be how they parted.

"Wait," he pleaded, so softly it was almost lost on the wind. But Anders heard, and his eyes - those sad, golden eyes Asher had fallen for - met Hawke's, and he felt like Anders was truly there, seeing him, _with him_ for the first time in ages. "Please, don't…I can't lose you."

"Hawke," Anders choked. "_Asher."_

Hawke thought his heart was going to break out of his chest. The look in Anders' eyes - it was almost as if… Asher blinked hard, fighting back tears, but kept his eyes fixed on Anders. And for the first time in ages, he allowed himself to hope.

He still didn't know how to react to the events of the day, but there was one thing he knew for sure. One thing he'd known for years. "I love you."

He reached out his hand, and this time - _finally_ - Anders was there to grasp it.

Asher tightened his fingers, and Anders squeezed back. And Asher suddenly didn't care about Kirkwall or the Chantry or even the plight of the mages. All he cared about was right here with him.

There was still a chance for them, he knew. They could still rise from these ashes.

Together. Like they were always meant to be.

-End-


End file.
